


Warriors in Fields

by bizzylizzy



Category: Naruto
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-21 06:02:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/594270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bizzylizzy/pseuds/bizzylizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shisui meets an old man from an old plate and aspires to be a god.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warriors in Fields

**Author's Note:**

> Questionable tense abuse (okay I shot the tenses dead). Yes, I know Madara is dead. Hush and let me have my creepy old man. :|

Father had always said the plate was priceless, but he’d taken it down and shown Shisui the animals hidden in the designs and let Shisui trace the rigid patterns. It held an old scene of a warrior planting a field. _For a warrior must also eat, even in war,_  Father had said, and Shisui had nodded, but thought it stupid. He thought many things about his insipid father were stupid. He thought the man was soft and slow, and Shisui got sick to his stomach when he thought of his mother sleeping with this flabby, pathetic excuse for a man.  
  
Fugaku was more someone Shisui could imagine his mother sleeping with, but Fugaku hated him for being a genius and only a half breed. He also hated Shisui because Itachi adored Shisui, and Shisui could divert Itachi to madness and trouble when the boy would normally be perfect. Fugaku had beaten Shisui for it. Shisui had just laughed.  
  
Stuck inside on rainy days, or when he was injured, Shisui would take the plate down and run his hands over it. He traced the man’s face and stared at the pattern with his Sharingan, making himself half sick and giddy with the color and twists of the pattern. He memorized the plate perfectly, so that even after his father broke it throwing it at him, Shisui could remember it. His father had what people called “a bad day” the day he threw the plate at Shisui. Tired of being chastised for breaking his father’s bones, because the old, old man couldn’t help being addled and stupid and thinking Shisui was out to kill him, Shisui had gone out the window (without opening it) and into the woods.  
  
That day, he made himself a hideaway in the woods and surrounded it with nasty traps so that anyone who came near him would be killed. Mercilessly slaughtered in creative ways, because Shisui was a creative little murdering bastard.  
  
Given his nastiness, Shisui is surprised when the old man made it through one day. Old men, who are old like his father is old, should not be able to walk through Shisui’s minefield of death. For this reason, Shisui crawls down from his hideaway and looks the strange old man in the face.  
  
“You’re the man from the plate.” Shisui doesn’t find this surprising, but he knows the face. “The warrior planting wheat.”  
  
“You must be Izuna’s...” A pause in the papery thin voice that reminds Shisui of fire. “Great-great grandson.” The withered lips twisted. “Or half his. Are the Uchiha fallen so far they breed with common swine?”  
  
Shisui’s lips twisted into a snarl. “I’m better than any of the tide-cursed full bloods. I’m a genius. I’m the best.” Shisui raises his chin and dares the old man to deny it. Deny him.  
  
Instead, the old man smiles.  
  
“Let us hope your damning presence spurs them to action, though it is already too late is a diluted bastard such as yourself is their prized protege.” Despite the old man’s words, he seems pleased. Slowly, the old man’s smile grows, as if an idea has bloomed pleasant in his mind.  
  
“Come, child, let us not settle for you being the best Uchiha. Let us set our sights on your being best shinobi.”  
  
“Don’t make deals with devils. That is what my mother said.”  
  
“Your mother is dead.” This is true. Shisui watched her rot. “I can make you immortal.”  
  
Shisui eyes the man, thinking of the plate and how it mesmerized him. He cocks his head to one side, then the other. Then, he sticks out his hand. “You will make me a god.”  
  
The old man smiles. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”


End file.
